Telling
by tastewithouttalent
Summary: "Gokudera likes to rehash his day before he sleeps, gets restless and jittery if he doesn't have the opportunity, and the sound of his voice is invariably soothing for Yamamoto regardless of the subject matter." Gokudera tells Yamamoto about an amazing box he found.


"And then they thought making a threat was going to get them anywhere," Gokudera calls from the bathroom, loud enough to be heard over the hum of the fan. "Fucking idiots, all of 'em."

"Mm." Yamamoto is pretty sure his own hum of sleepy agreement is too faint to carry over the ambient sound, but he's also pretty sure it doesn't matter. Gokudera likes to rehash his day before he sleeps, gets restless and jittery if he doesn't have the opportunity, and the sound of his voice is invariably soothing for Yamamoto regardless of the subject matter. "Yeah, you're right."

"As if they could get past _me_." There's a click, Gokudera turning the switch for the fan off, and the hum dies into silence as he comes through the open door to the bedroom. There's a sigh over Yamamoto's head, the sound heavy with resignation, and Yamamoto opens one eye to peer up at Gokudera's exasperated scowl.

It's there just as he knew it would be, catching the corners of his mouth down into a frown even if it long ago ceased making it over the gap to touch the soft of his eyes. Gokudera tips his weight sideways, swings a foot out to kick gently at Yamamoto's hip. "You're not listening at all, are you."

"Hmm," Yamamoto hums again, the sound going taut and warm in his throat as he starts to smile. When he rolls onto his side instead of his stomach it's only so he can free his arms and get a better angle to reach for Gokudera's leg.

"Get off me," Gokudera groans, kicks to free himself of the glancing hold. "You're worse than Uri, I swear."

"Come to bed, Hayato," Yamamoto pleads, reaching out again with no hesitation after his initial rejection. "You can keep talking once you lay down."

"You won't listen any better once I'm there," Gokudera declares, folding his arms to give Yamamoto a mock glare. Yamamoto rolls onto his back instead, the view far better to appreciate the dark-damp of Gokudera's hair against the back of his neck and the elegant flex of his bare shoulders when he tightens his hold on his arms. "You'll just fall asleep like you always do."

"I might," Yamamoto admits, catching himself with a yawn halfway through the sentence. "You're just so comfortable to hold."

"Shut up," Gokudera groans, swings another kick that entirely misses Yamamoto this time. "Stop ogling me."

"I can't if you're in bed with me," Yamamoto points out reasonably. This tugs amusement at the corner of Gokudera's mouth, threatens a smile before he can force his disapproval into a frown instead.

"I could also just leave the room completely," he points out, turning to move towards the door. "Maybe I'll sleep on the couch and leave you alone."

"Aww," Yamamoto says, drawing the protest long and pleading as he sits up in a rustle of blankets and reaches out towards Gokudera. "No, come to bed, I'll be good."

"You're never _good_ ," Gokudera scoffs, but he's turning the light off instead of reaching for the door handle, dropping the room into complete darkness for the moment before Yamamoto's eyes adjust. Gokudera's footsteps are loud in the quiet, slow with Yamamoto's lack of vision, and then there are fingers at Yamamoto's wrist, a careful touch skimming against his skin as Gokudera fumbles for orientation. "You're terrible."

"Yeah," Yamamoto admits easily, closing his fingers at Gokudera's elbow to steady him as the other gets a knee against the futon to catch his balance. "You're right."

"God," Gokudera says, and it's soft, now, Yamamoto can hear the smile even with the curve of Gokudera's mouth hidden by the darkness. "Why do I put up with you?"

Yamamoto doesn't even attempt to restrain his smile. "Because you love me."

Gokudera scoffs, a burst of air that ruffles Yamamoto's hair, but his hand is coming up, the warm of his palm settling against Yamamoto's jaw so he can slide his thumb against the line of the scar at the other's chin. It's an idle movement, unconscious and familiar, and Yamamoto tips into it as Gokudera shifts his weight so he can fit his ever-cold feet under the blankets.

"Guess I don't need to say it again, then," he announces as he stretches out over the futon, drawing Yamamoto with him by the gentle touch at his jaw.

"Hayato," Yamamoto breathes, tipping himself in sideways so he can sigh the name against Gokudera's shoulder, can shut his eyes and tuck his head in close against the curve of the other's neck. "Are you teasing me?"

Fingers slide under Yamamoto's ear, sweep up to ruffle through dark strands short enough to be only barely damp from his earlier shower. "What do you _think_ , Takeshi?"

Yamamoto smiles. When he reaches out his arm fits around Gokudera's waist, his fingers fall into place against the gentle arch of the other's spine. "I think you're teasing me."

"You're an idiot," Gokudera says without the least attempt to move away.

"Mmhmm," Yamamoto hums. "Tell me what else happened. After the idiots tried to threaten you."

"We beat the shit out of them," Gokudera says with the easy, off-hand satisfaction that says the fight was straightforward, that soothes Yamamoto's worry before it even has a chance to form. "Took their weapons, too. Most of it was boring but one of them had this box on him, even though he didn't have any rings to use it."

"Did you take it?" Yamamoto asks, more to keep Gokudera talking than because he's really paying attention.

"You bet I did," Gokudera says. "It's amazing, too, it runs on Storm flames and it transforms into this cool cannon, with a skull and this loading device that…"

Yamamoto is listening, to the sound of Gokudera's voice if not to the meaning of the words themselves. But they're coming at a great distance, the distinctions of sound blurring into hazy warmth until the rumble of speech in Gokudera's chest against his is nearly as clear as the details of the words themselves. It makes him smile, his mouth curving warm against Gokudera's shoulder, and even when Gokudera pauses to ask something Yamamoto can't rouse enough to offer an answer. There's a huff of air at his hair, the exhale breaking apart into the shape of a laugh; then lips against his forehead, affection as gentle as the pattern of Gokudera's breathing against Yamamoto's hold, and a murmur of "I love you, Takeshi," the syllables familiar and soft in the night-dark air.

Yamamoto falls asleep smiling.


End file.
